Allison's POV
Mr. Jeremiah Raphael Gerald.
I won't deny it—he's a far better dancer than I could ever hope to be. While my experience with dancing is limited to a half-forgotten salsa and bachata tutorial, Jeremiah moves with effortless grace. My left hand rests awkwardly on his right shoulder, my other hand tightly gripped in his, almost too tight, as if he's determined to keep me from fleeing the floor.
But what truly unnerves me is that we're at the very center of the ballroom, the crowd's eyes glued to our every step. Or rather, to his. Jeremiah leads confidently, guiding me across the polished floor as I struggle to keep up, letting him pull me into spins that threaten to twist my ankles beyond repair. If he spins me one more time, I swear I'll crumble right here, a heap of limbs and humiliation.